


No Tears

by KrillinFan



Series: Scraps from FF.net [1]
Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: AU, Angst, Child Abuse, Sad, Sad Ending, Tragedy, What if Roshi never took Krillin as a student?, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 19:39:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18598054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrillinFan/pseuds/KrillinFan
Summary: What if Krillin had been turned away by Roshi instead of taken on as a second pupil? What if he'd never had the chance to make a friend? What might become of him?(Originally from FF.net, posted 10/20/2012)





	No Tears

**Author's Note:**

> (Original Notes)  
> I have to be perfectly honest… I have no clue why I'm posting this. It's unpleasant. It's not fun to think about. But… it is what it is. The backstory reaches back a ways. Someone had once asked an interesting hypothetical: what would have happened to the story of Dragon Ball had Roshi chosen not to take Krillin on as a second pupil, or to Krillin himself for that matter? What would he do with his life? And… looking back at what his life was, what lead him to come to Roshi in the first place… things began swirling in my mind and I just had put them to paper, and just a little bit ago, I decided I needed to share for some reason. I apologize in advance.

"He said no…"

The words echoed in his mind as he had sailed away from the island in his tiny boat. He'd traveled great distances, done a lot of searching, investigating, trying to sort the rumors from the truth as to the location of the Invincible Old Master, Muten Roshi. Spent hours trying to think of some way he could be conceivably taken on as a student under the great master, to finally be able to earn respect and return to that rat pit of a monastery and prove he wasn't worthless. To show them all that he was not trash.

But… the old man had coldly and flatly refused. He'd already taken on a pupil, he'd said. It was against his policy to take on more than one at a time, and that other kid, the monkey boy had already been granted the position. At that moment he'd felt both his heart sink and his rage boil as he'd demanded of the boy his reasoning, to know WHY he'd come to train under the master he'd searched so long to find. The kid just laughed and put his hand behind his head and told him he "looked kinda funny", something he'd normally never stand for, something he'd normally retort for… and something he wanted oh so desperately to do. To snap at him, to hurl insults back, to challenge the kid, prove his face meant nothing… but he couldn't. He had just silently lowered his head and trudged back to his boat, clumsily falling in, to another chorus of the other boy's laughter, and sailing back toward the mainland as silent tears streamed unbidden down his face.

He was alone, with nowhere to go… and all hope of someday making the monks and his fellow pupils eat their words slowly, quietly died.

* * *

 He was running again.

It had been five months since he'd left that little island. Five months of sleeping under the pier, using whatever discarded old tarps or sails he could find to build his shelter, making spare clothing out of whatever was left over. Five months since he'd had a decent meal and a nice warm bed to sleep in. Five months… five months since he'd been forced to steal to stay alive.

He whipped around the corner into an alley, pulse pounding in his ears. He'd stolen again. Just some bread from the small village's open-air bakery. Not even fresh, he never took the fresh stuff. Never took what they could get good money for. Merely the day old stale breads, the bruised or overripe fruits, the meat that would soon be discarded anyway. But… he'd had to take it nonetheless. It was steal or starve, and his instinct of self-preservation refused to allow the latter.

And thus he found himself here, ducking through alleys, trying to avoid the angry baker and the village police that chased him. Not the first time, not likely the last either. He'd have left this village long ago but for one thing keeping him here-

He was brought harshly back to reality when his face collided with a wall of blue in front of him and he felt a pair of large hands grip his wrists and lift him from the ground. His face went pale as he found himself staring into a pair of cold green eyes, eyes that took on a far more sinister sheen as the face of the village police officer twisted into a wicked grin. "Finally caught you, little worm." The man laughed as Krillin struggled to get away, his weakened form flailing in the air. "We don't take too kindly to thieves here," he began squeezing harder as he spoke. "Not. One. Bit." He gave a violent twist of his right hand and Krillin cried out in pain as he felt the brittle bones in his left wrist snap under the pressure. The large man laughed as he threw him to the wall, pulling a large club out of his belt. "And now it's time show you the penalty for stealing food around here."

The boy tried in vain to shield himself from the blows, each one raining brutally from above, each time leaving a large welt where it connected, bruises already visible. His mind raced back, back to the day before he'd finally left that temple. Back to his fellow students beating him for sport, back to the monks encouraging and egging them on, back to the way they had merely sent him to bed afterward, black eye and split lips untreated. Back to… to where he had a bed. He had food and clothing… actual shelter… but a lot no different than the one he faced now in the streets.

A particularly hard blow fell upon his right knee and he screamed in pain as he felt the joint give way. Krillin fell back, clutching his knee and sobbing, trying to suppress the screams of pain that came unwilling from his throat. The officer laughed and twirled his club as he walked away. "Alright, that oughta be enough to learn ya for now. Have a nice night, boy."

Krillin slowly dragged himself back down the alley, in the direction of the pier. A mere 50 feet away, no less. He used to be able to make it there easy and cursed himself for slowing down, for being so weak. Another jolt of pain from the knee froze him in place for a moment as he fell against a crate on the docks to steady himself. He looked at his rags, now bloodied by the various splits in his skin from the beating. He'd have to replace those now… if he could find anything to salvage. And with the rain… well, cotton sails for roofing weren't going to do much to keep him warm and dry tonight.

With a groan, he hauled himself to the edge of the pier, doing his best to lower himself with his one good hand to the ground below, wincing as his knee was still forced to take a bit of his weight, and began to crawl under the woodwork above as he made his way toward his makeshift bed.

Tonight would be a long night. But that which held him here… his stubbornness and pride… was dead.

* * *

 It had taken 3 months of the rainy season before he had found a ship that would take him back. But when a supply ship had been forced to dock for repairs and he learned of its destination, he wasted no time in stowing himself aboard. A four day trip to the east stuffed inside the hold or a relatively small ship. But there he stood, at the steps to his old home… the steps of the temple he had run from nearly a year ago. A place he once swore he'd not return to until he had the power to make them respect him once and for all. He swallowed what was left of his dead pride, placed his walking stick on the first step of many and began to slowly limp up the stairs.

At the top, an older monk smirked maliciously. It had not been hard to recognize the boy making his way back, despite his emaciated form. Sure he was bony now, his left hand was bandaged, and some old injury to his knee resulted in it healing at an odd angle, but there he was… the failure, back as he had predicted, slowly, dizzily, shakily making his way back up the stairs, his pale face and reddened eyes becoming more visibly detailed as he approached. The smirk developed into a full grin, the monk's missing teeth leaving odd gaps in the smile as he leaned back into the temple and called out, "He returns! The weak one returns as we said he would."

A few of the students came running to the gate and began laughing and taunting the boy on the steps below, his breathing ragged as he continued to pull himself toward the temple gate. He was almost back now… almost ready to face his tormentors once again. Suddenly he felt himself hauled up the stairs by the thin rag shirt he wore and flung into the courtyard, his head slamming hard into one of the many columns supporting the upper balcony. His vision blurred as he hit the ground, distorted voices, as if they were underwater, mocking and cheering, laughing loudly as the monk above him called out "I said you were to come crawling back. Now crawl, to your room. Your punishment for desertion will be decided later."

He tried to grip the column for support and stumble toward the sleeping quarters when he felt a sharp blow to the back of his knee. Krillin hit the ground, crying out weekly from the pain as one of the students shouted into his face. "Master says to crawl. You will crawl. Now." He summoned up his strength and slowly made his way toward the bunks, sobbing in pain each time he was forced to put weight on his bad knee, his vision becoming even more blurred, his hearing all but gone. His limbs seemed so heavy… he was so tired…

Finally reaching one of the cots on the floor, he crawled onto it and curled into a ball, ragged breaths were short and infrequent as he collapsed his head onto the thin pillow, the room around him spinning as he slowly drifted off into another world. A world where he was a hero, respected, with many friends and a beautiful girl by his side… yes… such a nice thing to think of… such a lovely dream…

* * *

The students padded the last of the earth near the edge of the temple cemetery into the ground, standing around the small, freshly-dug grave. They stood silently as their master laid the only marker the grave would bear- a simple sign with a simple phrase. "No tears for the weak and worthless." The students filed slowly back up the stairs, shocked at the coldness their master showed even in the face of the death of one of his own.

* * *

Heaven was a lovely place.

Krillin looked around at the beautiful landscape, the scenery, clear waters, surrounded by happy people who were meeting old friends and relatives. No pain, no sorrow… no more fretting about whether or not you had worth. A truly remarkable place, he admitted to himself. Yet still, he sat by the side of the waters, lazily tracing small fingers through the water as he sighed.

Heaven was a lovely place… but so very lonely when there's no one there who cared to greet you.

**Author's Note:**

> And there it is. Dunno why I felt like I should write this, but… got it out of my system and hopefully can get back to work on my other tales now.  
> See ya for now.


End file.
